


Come Forward and Break Us Apart

by softforsummers (orphan_account)



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Post-Cuba, Post-X-Men: Apocalypse (2016), Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 14:07:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16599344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/softforsummers
Summary: Things were never simple between them from the start and Charles hates Erik for making every single thing harder than it has to beIn which Erik is a good liar when he wants to be and Charles fights to remember why he's fighting this***Rewrote my other work, Three Favorite Lies





	Come Forward and Break Us Apart

**Author's Note:**

> The other fic wasn't as long or as well thought through as I wanted  
> So here's a new and improved version for those of you who like feeling sad!

It wasn’t that Charles hadn’t slept with men before; he had, plenty of times in the past (as Raven was so fond of reminding him when she playfully mocked his promiscuity).

It wasn’t that Charles was so impressed by his mutation; he certainly was—and it was quite useful during sex—but that wasn’t his selling point either.

It was his lovely mind and complicated personality. Only a month ago the very thought of feeling this fond of someone for something other than their appearance or sexual prowess would have made him feel queasy. After all, sentiment towards your bed partners was a mistake.

Charles had never fancied himself one of those people with a thing for ‘bad boys.’ For all Raven’s jokes he could never see himself as an innocent British twink with a hard on for big bad Germans in leather jackets. Maybe it was because he wasn’t innocent. Maybe it was because even with all the evidence he couldn’t see Erik as really being bad.

Either way, he refused to attribute his attraction to any type of preexisting preference. As far as he was concerned Erik was unlike any other man he had ever met before, and that in and of itself was enough to make Charles want him with a passion that was slightly embarrassing. Luckily Erik seemed to return his attraction just as much, if not more.  

Adding to his list of lovely traits, Erik was well above average in bed. He wasn’t the best Charles had ever had, but he was well endowed and the perfect level of aggressive.

Lying there in their hotel bed catching his breath, Charles allowed himself to drift slightly. He gently rubbed his wrists where the metal headboard had gripped him too tightly under Erik’s control.

“Are you okay?” There it was, that soft concern, hidden underneath a carefully built facade of disinterest and gruffness. Why Erik felt the need to conceal any ounce of interest in him—even now, after fucking Charles within an inch of his life—was beyond his understanding.

“A little tired and sticky, but I think that only confirms just how ‘okay’ I am,” Charles hummed sleepily.

There was a slight dip as Erik got up from the bed, followed by the nearby sound of running water. Erik came to Charles with a warm and damp cloth, cleaning the slick mess from him with a gentleness that would have surprised him if we were awake enough.

Charles mumbled his thanks, lazily pulling a sheet over him. At one point Erik might have laid claim to this bed but Charles couldn’t be bothered with such things now. It would take no effort for Erik to move to the other bed; Charles wasn’t really imposing, and besides he was already half asleep.

The bed dipped slightly again as Erik joined him, pulling up the sheet a little to stick his long legs under it. Charles frowned a little in confusion. He considered opening his eyes, turning over and interrogating Erik on his intentions. Ah, but it was late, and the bed was already warm. Surely Erik must be smart enough to not take the shared body heat for granted. Besides, after what they’d done sharing a bed for sleep was hardly crossing a line. It didn’t actually  _ mean  _ anything significant, even if it was the first time they’d done something like this. Charles started falling asleep again.

“I don’t want to hurt you Charles,” Erik whispered.

Charles opened his eyes blearily. Did Erik really have no concept of sleep? Muttering something about inconsiderate bastards, Charles summoned the strength to roll over and face him. He glared at Erik through half open eyes; he lay there staring at the ceiling obliviously. Arsehole.

There was something in his expression that Charles couldn’t quite put his finger on. Some sort of sad longing, as if he was thinking back on something upsetting. Shaw, probably.

Charles tried to think of something reassuring to say. Something about imprisoning Shaw and making things right again. But that would surely lead to an argument and Erik was far more awake than he was. There was nothing he could say in his tired state that would make sense, or be anywhere close to what Erik wanted to hear. This would be easier if he could just peak into his mind and find out what he wanted Charles to say to him. As it was, Charles was far too tired to handle this conversation. Instead he went with the next best thing.

“Then don’t.” And closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly. 

*****

There was something so deliciously carnal about being with someone you would just as quickly kill. Charles had never had the chance to have hate sex before. Previously his sexual conquests were limited to people he never saw again, or acquaintances he never developed a real opinion on. So this was, like all experiences involving Erik, something new and unique.

It started with an exchange of choice words in Charles’ Paris home. Some dickish comment about how unsurprised Erik was that Charles had a second luxurious home in France. Followed by Charles snide remark that he was hoped it was as comfortable as Erik’s prison cell. This, of course, led to Erik attempting to somehow blame Charles for not being born poor. Charles pointed out that being born rich isn’t a crime, not like murder and maiming is. This was punctuated by a thrown bottle of scotch. Unfortunately he missed and the bottle made contact with the wall instead of Erik’s forehead. It was close though, and Erik angrily yanked Charles to his feet by his watch.

“Fuck you Erik, you bloody bastard! Let go of me!” Charles roared, digging his heels into the ground as he was dragged forward. 

In a moment they were in each other’s face, yelling and shoving until Erik grabbed Charles hair and pulled him in. It was desperate—harsh and ugly with none of the sensual touches Charles used to love so much. This was different. Erik and Charles had only the company of their own hands for an absurd amount of time. Longer than anyone could be expected to hold out. There was no affection or even real desire in their touches. This was about getting something they had been denied for too long. It hardly mattered where it came from, but the heady blend of anger and repressed want served to make it as explosive as anything they had in the past.

“I missed this,” Erik said shortly. Charles hummed noncommittally. The sex was good but this hardly warranted a conversation. He considered jumping Erik again while he still had energy or taking a shower. Taking a shower would be relaxing, but God it had been so long since he’d had sex. There was a saying about gift horses—

“I don’t want to leave,” Erik whispered, pointedly staring at a painting on the wall. The room was eerily silent, as if he was holding his breath in anticipation of Charles’ response. It was upsetting in a way Charles couldn’t explain.  

If he had his telepathy now Charles would have pushed into his mind to find out what exactly he meant, morals be damned. After all that had happened he knew better than to underestimate him or trust him. There was no doubt in his mind this mission would end just as badly as their first. When Logan had first told Charles that future Erik insisted he needed to be broken out of prison he felt like throwing up. Even from the future Erik was manipulating Charles to get what he wanted.

Now he was talking about God knows what, and if Charles had a single brain cell left he would poke and prod until his intentions came to light. But this was not the time for psychoanalyzing. Not when Erik was lying next to him again at long last and perfectly ready for a second round.

“Then don’t,” Charles said, rolling over to straddle his hips. It was easier to pretend Erik’s comments were in regards to sex or even their mission. It was easier to pretend there wasn’t something desperate and aching in his words, bleeding through and pushing at Charles chest even without his telepathy. Erik would leave after their mission, no doubt only after taking something else away from Charles. But for tonight, Erik would be giving instead of taking. 

*****

If there’s anything that shouldn’t surprise Charles at this point it’s Erik ruining things for him. The school was up and running, nearly a hundred students called it home and were learning to thrive with their new abilities. The government had taken the revelation of mutants better than Charles had originally dreamed. Beating Magneto on the White House lawn has shown people there were good mutants in the world. Like anything else, it would take time for people to be fully accepting but Charles was hopeful.

Until he wasn’t. Until the good he had managed to create for himself was viciously snatched from him once again. From the most unsurprising source of misery in the world— Erik Magnus Lehnsherr.

The truly ironic thing this time was that Erik intended to destroy humanity as revenge for his  _ HUMAN wife  _ and mutant child being killed by humans. Charles burned with the desire to point this out to him when they spoke in Cerebro. It wouldn’t hurt to mention that his  _ human _ mother had been killed by another  _ mutant _ , but pointing out the strangeness of where he directed his anger seemed pointless by now. For all he knew it would only inspire Erik to kill mutants, or direct his anger in some other equally absurd direction.

Erik was too far gone in his grief and pain to listen to Charles. Instead he found faith and purpose in the words of a maniac who promised genocide. The irony would kill Charles before Apocalypse could.

And after the fact he came to rebuild; he floated besides Jean and helped put the supports in place.  As if nothing had happened. The fact that he had ever thought Erik could be anything more than a manipulative man, defined only by his brokenness not by fate but by choice. The fact he ever thought Erik could consistently be called upon as an ally instead of whenever it happened to suit him. It hurt, the painful reminder of past mistakes held in the sincere smile Erik gave him when they were alone.

They spoke of many things in the way that amounts to nothing. They spoke for ages and afterwards it felt like a few seconds. Charles couldn’t have repeated anything Erik told him if his life depended on it. All he remembered is that at some point in the course of conversation it seemed like his bedroom, not the study, was the most secure place for a quiet talk.

All he remembered from their talk is that the newly repaired window let in a lovely amount of light that fell across Erik’s face perfectly. His hair seemed redder than it had in the past. The scruff on his face suited him in his own way. Something about not being perfectly put together made him seem more approachable and less cold. Charles knew better.

Erik was kneeling in front of his wheelchair. Charles frowned, feeling somehow offended. Like a child whose father was kneeling to give him a pep talk face to face. Time froze as did Charles breath in his throat. Why was he wanting to look up at Charles? Giving up his height, and symbolically his power? Was that being ridiculous, was there any significance, was Erik mocking him or honoring him?

“Charles,” Erik said softly, holding his limp hand between his own,” I love you.” His hands were trembling even though the room was warm. It was summer time so it was warm, it was too warm in fact. 

Charles felt strangely disconnected from his body, as if he were floating and looking down on this absurd tableau. Everything seemed funny somehow. As if Charles has suddenly remembered the funniest joke he’d ever been told, but couldn’t  _ quite _ remember the words.

Erik was looking at him expectantly. Somehow that was funny too, and Charles felt himself fighting back some weird hysteria. Was he supposed to say something? Erik didn’t think Charles loved him did he? Did he?

There was something guarded in Erik’s face. Concealing more lies, more intent to betray. There was something in Erik’s face that looked stiff and cold. The same face he sometimes made when he hurt Charles, as if he were detaching himself intentionally from all the implications of his actions.

This is one manipulation Charles won’t allow. He won’t allow himself to feel guilty for not loving him back. He won’t allow himself to feel guilt for still wanting Erik to change, for wanting him to be a man he could love. There was a time, so long ago now it feels like the faintest echo of a memory, where he could have returned the sentiment with some ounce of sincerity. But now—

“No, you don’t,” Charles said firmly.

Charles thinks he might break if Erik insists, if he tries to convince Charles it’s true. He won’t believe him, he’s incapable. But Charles will finally shatter; you can only put so much pressure on a person. And then Erik will win this absurd game he’s been playing from the start; a game Charles only now realizes they’re playing.

Erik’s mouth is very close to Charles. He doesn’t remember that happening, but now he’s far too close to Charles mouth. And Charles is warm, and soft, and feeling very defenseless in his chair. There’s no need to feel so weak, he’s a telepath. This could stop at any time if he wanted it to.

Erik is very close. If he leaned forwards just a little he could finally break Charles. If he lifted his hand, and gently cupped Charles cheek, and stopped trying to lie to him about how he felt. Or stopped trying to tell the truth. It didn’t really matter what the truth was, it only mattered how well he lied. Did he know how little it would take to break him at this point? That Charles would be over if he lied one more time, just as prettily as he had before.

If he came forward, and broke them apart.


End file.
